


one thousand love songs

by makeadealwithgod



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, drunk confessions of love... almost, lovino is truly doing his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeadealwithgod/pseuds/makeadealwithgod
Summary: a collection of drabbles! not all are romantic, i just couldn't think of a better title.





	1. streetlamps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's hard to admit the night is over.

In the midday sun, the paving stones had felt as crisp and cool as fresh water, but now, under fleeting moonlight and faltering street lamps, they felt clammy under Antonio’s feet. The streets of Madrid were empty, although the distant sound of clumsy footsteps reminded him of someone else’s Saturday night finally coming to an end. Sunlight had begun to splinter over the horizon- but it wouldn’t reach them just yet, as they brooded on the curb, basked in blue shadows.

“You want any?” Antonio felt the coolness of a glass bottle pressed against his arm, turning to see his friend had finally pulled his head from his lap.

“Lovino, it’s nearly six in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“Says who? I don’t want to go home.”

“You never do,” he put a hand on Lovino’s arm, tentatively, “but I promise you your bed is far sweeter than anything in that bottle.”

Lovino grimaced, thrusting the bottle into his face. “It’s vodka. It’s not supposed to be sweet, idiot.” He sat perfectly still for a few moments, glowering at the older man, until a wave of incredulity washed over his face, as though his features lit up from within. “You used to stay out for days, and now you can’t even handle a full night? Antonio, you’re getting _old_.”

“Maybe I am, but it’s still late and you still-”

“You’re _old_!” Lovino’s laughter rang through the street, short and frantic as though the air he breathed was tickling him. “You’re funny, Antonio.”

The bottle slipped from Lovino’s fingers, rolling over the cobblestones before clinking against the curb, its contents slowly spilling down the road. Antonio sighed and felt the familiar weight of his friend pressed against his lap. He stroked his fingers through Lovino’s hair, feeling the way his thick curls twisted against his movements- there was no intimacy intended to it, but it made his breath soften and his chest ever so slightly less tense. Golden light had begun to creep up the street, lapping against their shadows, and he figured it was time they admitted defeat.

“Come on, we’ve got to go home now,” Antonio pushed himself up, trying to ignore the slight sway to his movements, “everywhere’s closed, anyway.”

Lovino grabbed a hold of Antonio’s arm, wrapping one arm around his shoulder. He wasn’t quite as shaky as Antonio had expected, but he was still grateful his apartment wasn’t far. “Can I tell you a secret?”

There was something defiant about Lovino’s smile, it wasn’t concealed behind his usual cynicism or embarrassment; it was, perhaps, the first time Antonio had seen Lovino smile simply because he wanted to. He could only chuckle, not entirely certain if he wanted to know.

“I love you.” The younger man turned to him, his grin fearless and his eyes as warm as honey in the early morning glow. He was inches away from Antonio’s face, and it was only when Lovino began to sway that Antonio remembered the ground was still beneath his feet.

“Lovino, I, I didn’t think-”

“I thought I ought to tell you that since you’re so old, you’ll probably die soon and I’d feel bad if no one ever told you that.”

“Of course.”

And so they staggered into the morning, as the last few drops of vodka trickled between the cobblestone, leaving the paving with thin streaks of silver.


	2. small victories (or, swallowing pride)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reconciliation is hard, but being alone is harder.

Lovino had never doubted his ability to spiral into a breakdown at any given moment, but the lows always seemed to have a way of catching up with him when he least expected it- or, more accurately, when he had forgotten the chest-shattering weight of them. He kicked at his covers bitterly, slamming his head into the pillow and screwing his eyes shut. It was too late to go back to sleep, but all he needed was a moment where he didn’t have to think about the unbearable pressure of simply being; he needed oblivion but was painfully aware of the danger of those thoughts. He could hear his voice, boyish and whimpering as it circled around his head, weeks from now, telling his therapist about his relapse. How it wasn’t his fault, how he tried so hard, how he had learned his lesson and now he would recover. How his therapist would nod, indifferently, and studiously write _headcase_ in his notes. For a moment he thought of Antonio, the inevitable reconciliation they would share, and any kind of sardonic clarity he had over the situation slipped through his fingers like oil. The birds began to sing and Lovino hated everything.

His phone buzzed from across the room, nestled in a pile of week-old laundry that had fortunately shielded it from splintering apart when he had flung it at the wall. It was Antonio, he presumed, Feliciano would never be up so early, and most of his other acquaintances knew when to keep their distance- not that he resented them for it, it made for fewer apologies when he eventually came back down to earth. Still, Antonio was nothing if not persistent, and Lovino couldn’t help but loathe no matter how vicious the insult, or how coldly he dismissed him, Antonio was resolved to see the best in him.

With a groan, Lovino pulled himself upright, stretching his foot out ahead of him to clear any empty bottles from his path. He couldn’t tell if he felt quite so deathly because of his hangover or his depression, but either way, it seemed like a good enough reason to pick up where he left off. _But not today_ , he thought to himself, trying to ignore the sickly churning in his stomach. Self-love was an unwelcome concept for him- even when he was in a manic episode he couldn’t stomach any suggestion of kindness towards himself, he simply found more lavish forms of self-annihilation. But now, he supposed he had to at least try, because despite being an insufferable idiot- at least right now- he could at least try to spare Antonio’s feelings, even if that meant going through the gruesome ordeal of taking care of himself. A deep hum snapped Lovino from his thoughts, the only thing that tethered his suffocating room to the world around him. It was a world that breathed and swayed and sighed, a world that people darted in and out of like breaths of air, it was a world where people like Antonio drifted by, finding pieces of themselves in whatever they happened across. Sometimes he would crash into his room, flinging the curtains wide open and turning to Lovino with the reverence of the first man Prometheus had gifted fire to. _See cariño, nothing can grow without light._

Antonio pretended not to hear him when Lovino told him mould grew just fine in the dark.

He crouched down, feeling the coolness of his phone screen from the pile of crumpled fabric. Maybe he would open his curtains, not because Antonio’s voice was distantly reminding him of some article he read of sunlight and dopamine, but because he wanted to. In front of him was a stream of messages, punctuated throughout the morning: _I love you_ , as Antonio was still waking up; _I promise you I’m not angry_ must have come after his morning coffee; he had probably sent Lovino the video of a cat attempting to walk in boots whilst he was taken a break from tidying up. It was Antonio’s most recent message that made Lovino laugh, perhaps because it was so typical of him, and partly because he had clearly meant to tell him earlier but forgotten, reminding Lovino of how he loved to tease him for his age. _Take your medicine!!!_ , a sentence that in any other context he would have found unbelievably patronising, but something about its urgency made him think that it was important to Antonio, one of the many ways he had of saying he cared. He remembered his wide-eyed gaze as Lovino had explained his medications, what they were _supposed_ to do, what they actually did, and how he had been told to take them. His actual dosage was rarely as orderly or as punctual as he had been instructed, but that was simply his reality, life got in the way of pillboxes and consistent morning doses, but it was clear that Antonio had taken his word as gospel.

The screen was still far too bright for him, and he texted through squinted eyes, his fingers clumsy and still feeling unusually heavy. _Lunch?_. Lovino’s love language wasn’t quite as fluent as his boyfriend’s, but it was the closest he could get to say thank you. He debated whether he had the energy to brush his teeth, or if he could get away with just mouthwash, as he drifted to the bathroom, trying to remember which day he needed to open for his medication. 


End file.
